


Hypocrisy

by Walor



Series: Discord Requests One-Shots [4]
Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: Choking, Feelings, Humor, M/M, The Iconic Sinestro Choke Hold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 01:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15474747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Walor
Summary: Alone on a lifeless planet with only Sinestro for company Hal realizes one or two things about his relationship with his former mentor.





	Hypocrisy

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing these light boys and late at night to boot. Uh oh, spaghetti-o's kids.
> 
> Spelling and grammar errors probably since it me.

He’s starting to miss normal social interactions.

Hal’s not talking about chatting with friends, okay. He misses conversation in its most basic form. Talking with the grocery store check out lady kind of basic. How are you? Good, how are you? Good, hot isn’t it? Yup. Something that doesn’t require losing at least half of his still functioning brain cells—which at this point is starting to look like the kind of gray matter mush you might find in a pro football player’s head—any time he opens his mouth. Hal’s started talking to the rocks on the planet’s surface like little Castaway mini-Wilsons. They’re on some unnamed, uninhabited rock in the middle of the ass-end of nowhere, and it’s going to take at least another solar day before his message gets to the nearest sector with an active corps member.

It’s not like he’s completely alone, but Sinestro might as well be a stuffed volleyball head anyway. It isn’t like their conversations hold any developmental weight unless you count a number of right hooks and uppercuts to the jaw as average tea-time chatter. And that’s when he _wants_ to talk to Sin. Yet, whenever Hal tries his hand at being anything synonymous with the word “friendly” it tends to play out like the dramatized brawl of a WWE match.

A whole lot of drama, very little substance.

“Did you catch the game last night between Rock 1 and Rock 2? It was neck and neck.” Punch. Kick. Punch again. Maybe a “Damn you, Jordan,” thrown in there for good measure. Not to say Hal hasn’t reacted with anger to any of Sinestro’s attempts at what could be called “decent manners.” Then again, in Hal’s own defense, he’s never seen anyone on Earth react kindly to different variations of the word “imbecile” either.

The only reason they aren’t currently rotting away on the cold, rocky surface of the planet is the fact they both have to keep a close eye on the energy of their rings. No unneeded expenditures or bye-bye air. So no fighting with light-created dragons or thirteen-car-long Metro trains. Doesn’t mean Sinestro’s arm can’t do the same thing.

Or his hand really.

“I don’t think you realize how big of a waste of time and energy this is for the two of us,” Sinestro says. At least Hal thinks he does. The words are murky like they’re being held down within a pool of water. Vision black, lungs past the point of pain all he can do is go limp. A rabbit in the sharp mouth of a starving fox. “Again and again I prove that I am superior to you. All this, yet you still fight me. Even now you resist me.”

Hal doesn’t exactly know how _this_ can be considered resisting, i.e. going limp in Sinestro’s now universally known favorite position, the crossface chickenwing. Sin wouldn’t like that name. Probably known as something else, like the Korugarian nerve pinch. Hal wheezes a pained laugh. Prolonged oxygen-starvation or comedic genius? If only Sinestro’s sense of humor was as big as his overinflated ego.

The pressure on his throat eases and Hal waits for a second, not too delirious to know that sucking in a harsh breath immediately will only hurt worse.

Knees shaky, Sinestro keeps him standing straight, arm wrapped around his waist and his other hand pressing lightly against his throat. Hal breathes in deeply through his nose, careful to keep it slow before he lets it out and collapses back against Sinestro’s solid and blood-hot body.

“You are,” Sinestro says on Hal’s third breath. “One of the most peculiar men I have ever known.”

Hal’s throat still hurts from the bruising force of Sinestro’s arm. He speaks anyway, hoarse and with a smirk lazy on chapped lips. “And yet you’re still here.”

A huff tickles the light hairs that lie across the top of Hal’s ear. “Being around someone with a proclivity for eccentricities has obviously not helped my better judgment.”

Hal can’t help but scoff. “Using big words doesn’t make you any smarter.”

“And provoking someone into getting what you want doesn’t make you any stronger,” Sinestro emphasizes his point by squeezing very lightly against his throat. Dips the pad of his thumb into the hollow beneath Hal’s Adam’s Apple. A small gasp escapes past his lips. “If you needed something you only had to ask, Jordan.” A throaty purr, like that of an indolent lion, as teeth scrape along the tense line of Hal’s neck. “ _Hal_.”

It’s hard to admit, even now—as Hal lets his uniform shimmer away into nothing while yellow beams of light wrap around the waistband of his jeans beneath—that the desire that drives him across the universe in the pursuit of cosmic justice would simultaneously pull him into the arms of a being as hypocritical and disastrous as Sinestro. That the person Hal had, at one point, seen as the father he’d lost—and didn’t _that_ reveal a whole lot of half-buried issues that Hal didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole—who then betrayed him so easily would also be the same man who understood him so completely. That had left his mark as clear and as permanent as a brand upon his soul.

Sinestro had ruined him for anyone else. Had turned him into something that craved violence and subjugation as much as he needed air to breathe. Hal can barely remember a night where he didn’t lie awake in his bed, three fingers deep inside while another hand clamped down hard on his throat. Driving the air from his lungs until he was red-faced, drooling helplessly while his fingers clawed and twisted mercilessly inside him.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

(Which meant a lot of unsatisfied boners and waking up to fucking _Superman_ standing at the edge of his bed stammering with a bright blush that he heard Hal’s heartbeat stutter.)

Despite the protection of the ring Hal still shivers when the slight sliver of his skin is exposed to the air. Sinestro makes a quiet admiring noise as the yellow strands of light pull Hal’s pants down further. A hand, warm and rough, palms the curve of his bare ass.

“Even when you were my student,” Sinestro says, letting the hand around Hal’s throat drop slightly. Thumb coming to rest against the curve of his collarbone. “You were never accustomed to my touch. Have you always feared me? Even before you knew what I was?”

Hal doesn’t see the point in lying so he doesn’t. “Yes.”

Sinestro makes a considering noise. “The strongest Green Lantern the corps has ever known, surpassing even the great Abin Sur and he fears _me_. How is that possible?”

“The last man I admired died suddenly” Hal can’t help himself. The words pour out of him as easily as a gush of water. “Then I meet this alien asshole who can fly circles around me and is everything I had ever hoped to become. The thought of disappointing him the same way I had done to everyone else in my life horrifies me. To have a second chance with the man who never saw me grow up and have him look at me with disgust. It terrifies me.”

Silence. Hal wets his lips and ducks his head in embarrassment. His mouth doesn’t feel like listening to his brain right now. Figures. Lack of oxygen to the brain means not a lot of thinking happening. Maybe he can kick back and get lucky hit in before Sinestro uses that information against him-

A low snarl and teeth, razor-sharp, dig into the skin of his neck below his ear. Hal gasps and struggles only for Sinestro to hold him tighter, growling. A starving dog over a bone. He worries his teeth harder into his throat. Hot drops of blood bubble out from beneath Sinestro’s teeth and cascade down his neck, staining the white collar of his undershirt. Hal whimpers, barely resisting the urge to struggle manically and goes limp.

 Sinestro eases his grip eventually. Rough tongue lapping against the bite, trailing all the way up to Hal’s jaw.

“You,” Sinestro says, his own voice ragged and lust-addled. “You could _never_ disappoint me, Hal.”

Hal’s no better than a popsicle, melting back against Sinestro in equal parts relief and euphoria. Back arching slightly as Sinestro tongues the bite wound—the claiming mark—again. A long, slender finger dips between his cheeks and Sinestro makes a noise of surprise after finding the wetness there.

Sinestro laughs. “You truly are the most unusual man I’ve ever met, Jordan.”

“Not a lot of men chase their arch-nemesis into the middle of vacant space, get stranded on a planet together, and provoke them into choking them.” Hal grinds back against the finger. His own cock, an angry red, twitches against his stomach, tired of being ignored. “So I think that title is well earned.”

“Indeed,” Hal tilts his head and watches Sinestro’s own uniform melt away into nothing. His mouth waters slightly at the familiar sight of Sinestro’s writhing, two-parted cock, beads of black cum already oozing out from the narrowed tips. “Though, I think a punishment is in order. It’s appallingly bad manners to manipulate someone in order to get what you want.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Hal says, “you hypocritical son-of-a-“

Hal plans to go on. He has a whole speech prepared about the pitfalls of insincerity. But getting fucked so hard that when the corps rescue team finally arrives even they notice his obvious limp makes him forget most of it.


End file.
